Since you were in the restaurant business, it was always a really busy day for you. So it’s not like we went out to dinner or anything romantic like that. You were always at work, right?

Still…I knew I was your Sweetheart. And that mattered so much to me – even if we weren’t physically together. So I told myself all day today that it’s actually still true.

Look how I’m saving us money by being my own Grief Therapist!

It did hit me hard though. I feel completely untethered without you. For 35 years my entire existence was wrapped up in US. You and me. Who we were together. I was always one half of a whole. I know that’s a very un-chic way to look at one’s life and relationships these days. Some who read this might suggest therapy for me because I approached our life that way. It’s very anti-culture, but at least it was that way for both of us.

Anyway, I’ve gotten a million texts and phone calls from people letting me know they are thinking about me on my first Valentine’s Day alone.

You’d be so proud of me. I got our dishwasher fixed today! All by myself. Well, not actually all by myself. So this guy, Josh, was sort’ve my Valentine. You know how much I’ve always hated dealing with workmen, but I’ve been washing dishes by hand since the day after you died, so it was worth it. He charged me $347.39, so maybe he didn’t feel the same way about me that I felt about him.

But when the dishwasher cycled all the way through, I kind’ve loved him a little.

I also had James’ car towed to the shop and am texting back and forth with the mechanic about what exactly is wrong and how much it will cost to fix it.

I took our new “Therapy Puppy” (read: pain in my arse) to the backyard to potty and swept out the pool while I was outside with him. You would be rolling over in your grave if you saw all the orange dirt coating the bottom of your pool. I knew you’d be so proud of me for thinking to sweep it while the puppy is peeing and the pool guy is fixing the automatic pool sweeper.

I also turned on the hose and put some water on that new little tree you planted out back and were obsessing about. That old Bobby Goldsboro song from the 60s keeps running through my head, “And Honey I miss you, and I’m being good…and I long to be with you, if only I could…”

Remember that song? You used to like to sing it every time I wrecked one of our cars. You really wore it out that one time I wrecked one of our cars into our other car!!!

“She wrecked the car and she was sad, and so afraid that I’d be mad, but what the heck!”

I’m so sorry I wrecked so many of our cars, and I know how frustrated you always were with my less-than-stellar driving skills, but at least I gave you a lot of opportunities to belt out that song. And you know you loved that song, especially when it made me cry and I begged you not to sing it because it made me sad to think about one spouse trying to live alone after the other one is gone.

On a positive note, I’ve become a bit of an expert on death and grieving and grief-support these past few weeks. I feel like I could author some kind of a How-To pamphlet on “Responding to a Friend or Neighbor Struck by Tragedy and Grief.”

One thing that has captured my attention is how many people have texted, emailed and sent me cards telling me I’m the “strongest woman they know!” What in the world are they basing that on? The false bravado I displayed at your funeral? Or all the years I was brazen and ballsy when you were alive? What woman wouldn’t be strong with a man like you standing behind her?

Now, I’m all alone. It’s just me. How in the world does anyone have any idea how strong I actually am? In the past 4 months I’ve lost my mother and the Love of my Life. I’m not at all sure that I’m strong. But I am on to everyone. I think our dear and well-meaning friends are employing the “self-fulfilling prophecy.” You know the drill – just tell people positive things you want them to believe about themselves and they will embrace it, believe it, live it out.

I don’t blame them. It’s a great approach. We raised 5 kids that way.

I’m having trouble getting hot water for my bath in the morning. And you know my morning (afternoon/evening) bath is my only comfort. At first I thought it was all the people camping out and showering here after you died that were usurping our hot water supply. But then after everyone cleared out, the problem persisted.

I know you always told me in the wintertime I need to draw the hot first and then add enough cold to cool it down so I can get in without burning my skin. I never listened.

I’m going to do that tomorrow morning. Now that you’re gone, I’m going to try to start doing a lot of the things you said.

It’s crazy to me that so much of our stuff broke the week after you died. Are you up in heaven trying to prove some kind of a point? If you are, can I just cry “uncle” now and wake up?

Is that what this is really all about? Is this actually some Dickensonian tale like “A Christmas Carol,” where the spoiled wife wakes up and realizes it was all just a bad dream? And then she turns over a new leaf and finally appreciates her wonderful husband for all that he was to her?

If you would just walk through the door and say, “Just Kidding!” I promise I would never take you for granted again.

But I’m a tiny bit mad at you that I’ve got that stinkin’ song stuck in my head. And I hope you’re getting a little kick out of that somewhere.

I don’t think you need to be strong. That’s just cultural nonsense from a culture that is generally clueless in dealing with grief. I’ve always thought the “you’re so strong” comment is more of an admonishment and a plea from the person saying it to please keep your grief neat and tidy and contained and only expressed at certain times and in socially acceptable ways because they can’t handle it. Screw that. Do whatever you need to do and feel whatever you need to feel. Be as real and as raw and powerful as you need to be to survive this. Be as weak or as strong as you want — your choice and no else gets to make it for you.

I do think people worry a bit when there are kids still in the house. You gotta keep it together a little bit I guess. Maybe strong just looks different on different days and times? We will soon see. Love you Jill.

Once everyone goes home and the house gets quiet, please know that I am thinking of you and praying for you. I cant imagine how you go on after such a loss. I’m praying for peace and comfort for you and your family

You may not feel brave and strong however, the mere fact that you are able to actually get out of bed and face the world is being strong. The fact you are also able to take care of so many house/car issues by yourself is awesome. So happy that you have so many people who are sending you love and support. Sending you warm thoughts and prayers that you find comfort and strength during this awful time.

I just want to let you know that I think you are awesome and when I read this tonight I was shocked to learn of your loss. My heart breaks for you and your kids. Life sometimes just doesn’t seem fair. My prayers are with you and your family.

Wow, I have read some of your posts before but this one hit hard. My mom has been without my dad for three years and this really explained her feelings more to me than she can verbalize. She is still grieving like it was yesterday. My dad often joked about her being a “kept woman” and that he spoiled her. We are learning how true this was, lol. She is so lost without him and I am learning that a spouses grief is much different than a child. Like you eluded to… half of her is gone. Thanks for bearing your heart and soul. Btw, my father also loved Bobby Goldsboro and called this song “Honey”.

Bless her heart. I never really thought about this post being read from the perspective of the child. Thank you for sharing your reactions with me. It helps me so much with my writing. Prayers for your mom.

You know reading this post the morning after my 17year old daughter just had her 3rd auto accident in 7months (all minor thank goodness), this time hitting her brothers parked car as she backed out of our driveway ( how do you not see a a large white suv? It’s like Moby Dick in the driveway??) , seemed to somehow help me with my frustration over the situation Ana consider finding an appropriate song to have on hand just incase there is a 4th incident. Leslie, I read your blog, I do not know you but I would venture to guess you are a super strong gal. Your writings, your honesty, your vulnerability, your showing up here and sharing your attempts to find a new normal all point to undeniable strength. I keep you in my thoughts and I pray you continue to find your way through these difficult times.

Thank you so much. Every single thought and prayer is appreciated so very much. As for those car accidents that happen in driveways – those other family members need to quit parking behind your sweet Ana. She shouldn’t be bothered to worry about large white SUVs that are in her way.

Leslie, I haven’t reached out yet, but you have been close in my thoughts and prayers. I am grateful for your posts and your very raw, poignant and often funny posts about coping with loss has been a gift to all who read them. I appreciate you, and wish I could tack away the depth of your ache.

I love remembering Jimmy through your stories, Leslie, although it’s hard to keep reading through my bittersweet tears for you. I don’t know how you’re doing it, but I DO know he is so proud of you, and he must be giving you strength. I hope you continue to feel that along with the love and prayers from everyone!

I found your last post from Faithit and thought that it was beautiful. I subscribed immediately to your blog. I told my husband the story about your husband leaving for mass and knowing someone was missing. It melted my heart. After our number 4 was born we knew we were complete. I feel about my husband the way you feel about your Jim. May perpetual light shine upon him and may he rest in peace. Your family members are in our prayers.

Thank you so much for your prayers. They mean everything to me. And thank you so much for reading and subscribing. Lots of love to you and yours. I’m going to try to keep writing even though I’ve lost my muse!

I love your writing. It’s beautifully real, vibrant, full of depth and feeling. I was also shocked and saddened to hear of your husband’s tragic death. I understand what you mean by how can they know if you’re strong? While outsiders think the fact that you’re trying to carry on means strength–and it DOES–you also know the depth of your grief and how disabling that can be at times. I have been through the grief of the death of my parents, my father suddenly when I was 25 (8 weeks after my wedding), and my mother slowly when I was 32 (nearly 8 months after the birth of my first child), but blessedly not the death of a spouse. I was all choked up and tearful just reading your post, but then I listened to the song (which I’ve always loved) and ugly cried. So emotional. On a positive note, they say when your loved ones who’ve passed on are around you, their electrical energy they tap into can makes light bulbs blow, and things go kabluey. It’s supposed to be a sign they are around. I strongly believe he’s around you now, trying to reach out and comfort you. May God give you some peace.

I lost my Mom too, I completely know how deep that hurts. I cannot imagine a few months later losing your soul mate too. I love your spunk and your deep love for your husband. You don’t need to be strong you already are, grieve the way you need to as your loss is deep. Your precious hubby is with you, watching over you and your kids. You are an inspiration to me!

Thank you so much Kat. My deepest condolences as you mourn the loss of your mother. I feel bad that I’ve been completely distracted from grieving with my siblings as I am now entirely absorbed by this insurmountable loss with my children. Life is crazy.

No problem about the crying- I needed it! I know the love you two have is so strong, and love is eternal. It’s still there and so is he. On the other side. You will be together in real life someday in the future.

PS thanks for getting me out of a jam with my own dh. The same night you posted this I came home from an errand and decided to pick up mail from our car rather than walking out to the box later. It was icy and the car slid right up underneath the mailbox and got stuck. Not just a little stuck more like fused together for centuries and nothing is going to come between us snuggled up in there. Couldn’t have done it in a million years if I’d been trying to actually jam it up like that. The kids were shocked and impressed but I somehow doubted my dh would share their appreciation.

Got the car extricated without knocking over mailbox — win for me! But left a nasty long gash on the hood and side panel. Yikes. I never ding our vehicles. (Well except for that one other time a decade or so ago when I hit the button to close the garage door and forgot the car wasn’t pulled all the way in. But we’re talking double digits years ago! Ancient history.)

So cue the romantic swell of Valentines Day when I gently reminded my fresh off of midnight shifts bleary-eyed spouse that I’m just fine but that the car maybe has some slight cosmetic damage. His initial response was measured but rather less than thrilled. (I’m thinking there’s a reason you don’t see all that many love poems about longterm relationships.) I think there must be something hardwired into the male DNA that makes them get all twitchy at the idea of scratches in car paint and putting holes in walls voluntarily. (It takes us literally years before he will commit to putting a nail into the walk to hang a picture.)

I quickly showed him your blog and he changed his tune. (Plus I reminded him that it was good training for the inevitable car boo boos that will come with teenage drivers in a few years.) I think your blog was probably more helpful than my comnentary. Whew. He was still a bit grumpy for a little while but he recovered nicely.

In any event, thanks Leslie! I owe you a solid for keeping things real and in perspective! Your writing saved the day! Woot!

Oh Leslie, I love you. You ARE strong (you would have to be to raise five amazing kids AND have a wonderfully successful marriage to such a strong man), but obviously that doesn’t make this terrible loss any easier. Even the strongest women can spend days curled up on the floor crying and screaming “Why?” while eating their weight in chocolate. So you be as “strong” or as “weak” as you need to be. It’s a moment-by-moment thing. ❤️❤️❤️

Who told you about the chocolate? I was trying to keep that on the down low. Oh well. Now that it’s out, y’all can bring me chocolate in all its various forms. There’s a cooler on my porch!!
Love you Jodi